— Photo from Mary Ellen Johnson

After breaking a passage through heavy snow blocking the Delaware & Hudson tracks early in the 20th Century, this specially equipped locomotive plow had halted at the Meadowdale Station. Even if a unit this powerful had been available in 1888, many of the hard-packed drifts were so high, manual shoveling would probably have been necessary. The station, removed in the early 1930s, once stood near the Meadowdale railroad crossing.

“Spring is coming,” The Altamont  Enterprise editor announced in the March 10, 1888 “Home Matters” column. “Blue birds have been seen in various neighboring localities.” Local readers of the newspaper, having enjoyed the mild weather of recent days, were eagerly anticipating dry roads and spring planting, blissfully ignorant of the monster winter storm just then crossing the Great Plains.

As it reached the North Carolina coast, the storm combined with a coastal low, pulling in huge amounts of moisture. Simultaneously, an Arctic front thrust down from Canada, the blast of frigid air colliding with the moisture laden nor’easter. Once all these components were in place, the worst winter storm ever recorded on the East Coast aimed its vengeance at New York and New England.

Early Monday morning, March 12, as farmers tended to their chores in barns across Guilderland, the steady rain that had begun falling the night before quickly changed to snow as temperatures started to plummet. Within a few hours the winds picked up, reaching gale force as the night wore on.

Heavy powdery snow continued to fall all day Tuesday, whipped into huge hard-packed drifts by the ferocious wind, later estimated to have been a sustained 35 to 45 miles per hour. By Wednesday morning, the storm had subsided, but the near-zero temperatures remained.

Officially, 47 inches of snow fell in Albany during the three days of the storm, the most of any storm ever recorded in the immediate area. The East Coast from Chesapeake Bay to Maine was paralyzed for days afterwards with roads and rails blocked and telegraph lines down.

On Wednesday, in Guilderland’s various hamlets and on outlying farms, having been isolated by the huge drifts across roads and railroad tracks, the mammoth job of digging out began.

The last D & H train arrival in Altamont had been Monday, the day the storm began in earnest. The next scheduled train to roll into the station arrived at 6 p.m. Wednesday pulled by three locomotives necessary to push through the snow. Finally some mail and newspapers had arrived!

To clear the tracks in those days, men had to be hired to manually shovel. At Van Aernam’s Crossing, a 20-foot drift covered the D & H tracks for a quarter of a mile. A few days, later the D & H brought out a squad of Italians to shovel out its rail yards at Meadowdale.

Over on the West Shore, local men were hired for $1.50 per day to remove the drifts from the tracks. Unfortunately, several of them had their eyesight affected by the glare of the sun on the snow and were forced to quit. One tale passed down in later years was that the drifts were so high in places that sometimes it was possible to hang a coat on the top of a telegraph pole!

Stalled train

The first issue of The Enterprise after the blizzard ran a lengthy account in two 9-inch columns — very unusual to find a locally written story of this length in those early days of the newspaper — entitled, “The Storm.” It detailed the great adventure experienced by Altamont residents D.G. Staley, Chris Hart, I. Knower and Mr. Stafford, passengers on the D & H’s 6 p.m. Oneonta train that left Albany Monday evening with 24 riders on board.

Pulled by two locomotives through the snow, the train successfully climbed the steep gradient out of Albany, but became “embedded” in a huge drift somewhere between Elsmere and Delmar. All efforts to move the stalled train failed and within hours the raging storm had buried it under a blanket of snow. It turned out that the boiler of Engine No. 150 had developed a leak, lost steam, and, with that, power.

Engine No. 261, the second locomotive, did not have sufficient power to haul both the incapacitated locomotive and the cars through the already deep and drifted snow. Two D & H employees left the train to walk back to Albany to get help in spite of the dangerous conditions.

As hours passed with no help forthcoming, the hungry passengers began foraging, uncovering a barrel of bread “bound for Slingerlands,” several pounds of pork chops, a pail of oysters, a chunk of beef, a ham and four pounds of coffee. Mr. Baker of Slingerlands took over as caterer and, using a coal shovel to roast the meat, arranged “a splendid table d’hote.

As the night wore on, many of the passengers made themselves comfortable enough to sleep in the passenger cars, while others adjourned to the baggage car where they spent the next several hours “in songs and merriment of various kinds.”

Tuesday morning, a man who could see the stalled train from his house brought various eatables, another party also came with additional food for the stranded travelers. By 2 p.m., some D & H employees arrived with more provisions and the message that as soon as the storm abated D & H workers would be there to rescue the train.

Reaching the stranded train had taken them three-and-a-half hours to travel the three miles from Albany, the men becoming encrusted in ice by the time they arrived. When the snow finally ceased Wednesday, four engines and 60 workers arrived to extricate the stalled train, finally getting it pulled loose and returned to Albany. The four engines pushed on through the drifts, reaching Altamont at 2 p.m., the first train to arrive since Monday.

Hardships and heroes

In Guilderland’s hamlets residents dug themselves out and carried on with their chores and business with few comments about the effects of the storm on their daily lives. The Meadowdale correspondent apologized two weeks later for the dearth of news “on account of the blizzard” with no stories of how everyone was coping.

The postmaster of Guilderland complained that no mail had arrived in Guilderland between Saturday and Wednesday and, to make matters worse, he took in only 18 cents during the whole time. Three weeks after the blizzard, what the Guilderland writer considered the biggest drift in the town was to be seen on the Western Turnpike near S. Westfall’s.

In Fullers, the big blizzard news was that M.W. Siver’s wife had given birth to a 10-and-a-half pound boy during the storm. Mrs. Jacob Becker of Guilderland Center had hung some laundry to dry on their covered porch, only to have one of her sheets disappear during the height of the blizzard. Days later, it was found blown over half a mile, having landed in David Relyea’s hen yard.

The “Home Matters” column in the Altamont section of The Enterprise led off with the question, “Wasn’t a blizzard, though?” Praise was in order for the Knox-Berne stage that rolled into Altamont Monday morning, arriving on time in spite of the storm with the comment, “Jud is one of those fellows that don’t stop for wind or weather.”

Sympathizing with his correspondents, the editor understood that “due to the severe storm and blocked condition of the roads” they were unable to submit their columns. To the disappointment of Altamont’s teetotalers, the literary entertainment to have been put on by Mrs. Jesse Griswold at Temperance Hall, at first postponed because of the storm, was now cancelled indefinitely. It was noted that people living on Altamont’s Main Street really appreciated the efforts of little Allen Van Benscoten who shoveled through “the snow blockade” to open up the street.

Really hard hit were the farmers who had to be able to get out to their barns to feed their animals and where necessary, were forced to dig tunnels through the drifts to get there. Sometimes drifts were so high people had to crawl out second-story windows and in a few cases youngsters slid down from a second story window over a drift and out over the snow covered lawn.

When snows finally melted, some of the local fruit trees were discovered to have been damaged as the drifts that covered them settled and the weight cracked branches.

Overwhelmed or blasé?

Guilderland residents who actually lived through the Blizzard of 1888 seemed blasé as evidenced by the lack of commentary about it in The Enterprise except for the detailed description of the stranded train.

Perhaps then they were so overwhelmed they didn’t have much time to talk about it, but as the years went by many references were made to the storm in the press, either at the time of another big storm or on Blizzard of ’88 anniversaries such as the 25th or 50th.

By then, the survivors were aware they had lived through a historic event, the “Great White Hurricane” that took the lives of 400 people along its path, and began to provide details in The Enterprise never mentioned at the time it happened such as tunneling through the snow or sliding from the second-story windows.

Nothing has ever measured up to the greatest snowstorm of all. When another ferocious blizzard paralyzed Guilderland in February 1958, the headline that appeared in The Enterprise read, “Blizzard of ’88 Still Tops Says Weather Bureau.” The story continued, “The blizzard of ’58 can’t compare with the blizzard of ’88. That was the granddaddy of ’em all.”

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“Spring is coming,” The Altamont  Enterprise editor announced in the March 10, 1888 “Home Matters” column. “Blue birds have been seen in various neighboring localities.” Local readers of the newspaper, having enjoyed the mild weather of recent days, were eagerly anticipating dry roads and spring planting, blissfully ignorant of the monster winter storm just then crossing the Great Plains.

As it reached the North Carolina coast, the storm combined with a coastal low, pulling in huge amounts of moisture. Simultaneously, an Arctic front thrust down from Canada, the blast of frigid air colliding with the moisture laden nor’easter. Once all these components were in place, the worst winter storm ever recorded on the East Coast aimed its vengeance at New York and New England.

Early Monday morning, March 12, as farmers tended to their chores in barns across Guilderland, the steady rain that had begun falling the night before quickly changed to snow as temperatures started to plummet. Within a few hours the winds picked up, reaching gale force as the night wore on.

Heavy powdery snow continued to fall all day Tuesday, whipped into huge hard-packed drifts by the ferocious wind, later estimated to have been a sustained 35 to 45 miles per hour. By Wednesday morning, the storm had subsided, but the near-zero temperatures remained.

Officially, 47 inches of snow fell in Albany during the three days of the storm, the most of any storm ever recorded in the immediate area. The East Coast from Chesapeake Bay to Maine was paralyzed for days afterwards with roads and rails blocked and telegraph lines down.

On Wednesday, in Guilderland’s various hamlets and on outlying farms, having been isolated by the huge drifts across roads and railroad tracks, the mammoth job of digging out began.

The last D & H train arrival in Altamont had been Monday, the day the storm began in earnest. The next scheduled train to roll into the station arrived at 6 p.m. Wednesday pulled by three locomotives necessary to push through the snow. Finally, some mail and newspapers had arrived!

To clear the tracks in those days, men had to be hired to manually shovel. At Van Aernam’s Crossing, a 20-foot drift covered the D & H tracks for a quarter of a mile. A few days, later the D & H brought out a squad of Italians to shovel out its rail yards at Meadowdale.

Over on the West Shore, local men were hired for $1.50 per day to remove the drifts from the tracks. Unfortunately, several of them had their eyesight affected by the glare of the sun on the snow and were forced to quit. One tale passed down in later years was that the drifts were so high in places that sometimes it was possible to hang a coat on the top of a telegraph pole!

Stalled train

The first issue of The Enterprise after the blizzard ran a lengthy account in two 9-inch columns — very unusual to find a locally written story of this length in those early days of the newspaper — entitled, “The Storm.” It detailed the great adventure experienced by Altamont residents D.G. Staley, Chris Hart, I. Knower and Mr. Stafford, passengers on the D & H’s 6 p.m. Oneonta train that left Albany Monday evening with 24 riders on board.

Pulled by two locomotives through the snow, the train successfully climbed the steep gradient out of Albany, but became “embedded” in a huge drift somewhere between Elsmere and Delmar. All efforts to move the stalled train failed and within hours the raging storm had buried it under a blanket of snow. It turned out that the boiler of Engine No. 150 had developed a leak, lost steam, and, with that, power.

Engine No. 261, the second locomotive, did not have sufficient power to haul both the incapacitated locomotive and the cars through the already deep and drifted snow. Two D & H employees left the train to walk back to Albany to get help in spite of the dangerous conditions.

As hours passed with no help forthcoming, the hungry passengers began foraging, uncovering a barrel of bread “bound for Slingerlands,” several pounds of pork chops, a pail of oysters, a chunk of beef, a ham and four pounds of coffee. Mr. Baker of Slingerlands took over as caterer and, using a coal shovel to roast the meat, arranged “a splendid table d’hote.

As the night wore on, many of the passengers made themselves comfortable enough to sleep in the passenger cars, while others adjourned to the baggage car where they spent the next several hours “in songs and merriment of various kinds.”

Tuesday morning, a man who could see the stalled train from his house brought various eatables, another party also came with additional food for the stranded travelers. By 2 p.m., some D & H employees arrived with more provisions and the message that as soon as the storm abated D & H workers would be there to rescue the train.

Reaching the stranded train had taken them three-and-a-half hours to travel the three miles from Albany, the men becoming encrusted in ice by the time they arrived. When the snow finally ceased Wednesday, four engines and 60 workers arrived to extricate the stalled train, finally getting it pulled loose and returned to Albany. The four engines pushed on through the drifts, reaching Altamont at 2 p.m., the first train to arrive since Monday.

Hardships and heroes

In Guilderland’s hamlets residents dug themselves out and carried on with their chores and business with few comments about the effects of the storm on their daily lives. The Meadowdale correspondent apologized two weeks later for the dearth of news “on account of the blizzard” with no stories of how everyone was coping.

The postmaster of Guilderland complained that no mail had arrived in Guilderland between Saturday and Wednesday and, to make matters worse, he took in only 18 cents during the whole time. Three weeks after the blizzard, what the Guilderland writer considered the biggest drift in the town was to be seen on the Western Turnpike near S. Westfall’s.

In Fullers, the big blizzard news was that M.W. Siver’s wife had given birth to a 10-and-a-half pound boy during the storm. Mrs. Jacob Becker of Guilderland Center had hung some laundry to dry on their covered porch, only to have one of her sheets disappear during the height of the blizzard. Days later, it was found blown over half a mile, having landed in David Relyea’s hen yard.

The “Home Matters” column in the Altamont section of The Enterprise led off with the question, “Wasn’t a blizzard, though?” Praise was in order for the Knox-Berne stage that rolled into Altamont Monday morning, arriving on time in spite of the storm with the comment, “Jud is one of those fellows that don’t stop for wind or weather.”

Sympathizing with his correspondents, the editor understood that “due to the severe storm and blocked condition of the roads” they were unable to submit their columns. To the disappointment of Altamont’s teetotalers, the literary entertainment to have been put on by Mrs. Jesse Griswold at Temperance Hall, at first postponed because of the storm, was now cancelled indefinitely. It was noted that people living on Altamont’s Main Street really appreciated the efforts of little Allen Van Benscoten who shoveled through “the snow blockade” to open up the street.

Really hard hit were the farmers who had to be able to get out to their barns to feed their animals and where necessary, were forced to dig tunnels through the drifts to get there. Sometimes drifts were so high people had to crawl out second-story windows and in a few cases, youngsters slid down from a second story window over a drift and out over the snow-covered lawn.

When snows finally melted, some of the local fruit trees were discovered to have been damaged as the drifts that covered them settled and the weight cracked branches.

Overwhelmed or blasé?

Guilderland residents who actually lived through the Blizzard of 1888 seemed blasé as evidenced by the lack of commentary about it in The Enterprise except for the detailed description of the stranded train.

Perhaps then they were so overwhelmed they didn’t have much time to talk about it, but as the years went by many references were made to the storm in the press, either at the time of another big storm or on Blizzard of ’88 anniversaries such as the 25th or 50th.

By then, the survivors were aware they had lived through a historic event, the “Great White Hurricane” that took the lives of 400 people along its path, and began to provide details in The Enterprise never mentioned at the time it happened such as tunneling through the snow or sliding from the second-story windows.

Nothing has ever measured up to the greatest snowstorm of all. When another ferocious blizzard paralyzed Guilderland in February 1958, the headline that appeared in The Enterprise read, “Blizzard of ’88 Still Tops Says Weather Bureau.” The story continued, “The blizzard of ’58 can’t compare with the blizzard of ’88. That was the granddaddy of ’em all.”

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— Photo from Mary Ellen Johnson

The original banner carried by Guilderland’s Wide Awakes hung for decades in the cellar bar at the Mynderse-Frederick House. Over time, the deterioration of the fragile fabric led to its disintegration, leaving this circa-1970 photograph as the only visual evidence of Guilderland’s support for Lincoln in 1860.

Splintered over the contentious issue of slavery, the 1860 Democratic convention nominated Stephen A. Douglas as its presidential candidate while breakaway Democrats nominated J.C. Breckinridge and John Bell as alternative presidential candidates.

After Republicans nominated Abraham Lincoln in May 1860, jeering Democrats called him nothing but a railsplitter. Describing Lincoln as a “third-rate country lawyer,” the Democratic New York Herald sneered he would be a “nullity” if elected. Others were of the opinion he was a coarse backwoodsman.

Thousands of Republicans rallied to his defense, working to secure a Republican victory in November, among them many Guilderland men. Of the town’s 1,600 males, a sizable number joined the Wide Awake movement to promote The Railsplitter — a Democratic jeer had become a Republican mark of pride!

The Wide Awakes had originated earlier that year in Connecticut when a crowd of supporters at a Republican gubernatorial campaign rally appeared in glazed caps and capes carrying torches, making an impressive display for the crowd. The Hartford Courant complimented them, describing the men as “wide awake.”

As soon as news of Lincoln’s nomination became known, Republican men began forming “clubs” adopting the name “Wide Awakes.” In our area, Albany was the first to organize, mustering in 200 men to march on the Capital for a Republican meeting.

Within two weeks, they claimed 1,000 members in the city. The club’s constitution and background information was printed in a form easily sent out to parties eager to initiate their own group of Wide Awakes. Thurlow Weed’s Albany Evening Journal, the Republican voice of the city, was filled with reports of Wide Awake activities all over the area including Guilderland in the few months before the election.

Near the end of August, a Wide Awake Club had “been formed and uniformed in the neighborhood of McGoun’s [McKown’s] in Guilderland. Three other clubs are to be organized in town, forthwith.”

A week later, another calling itself “Company B,” probably from the Guilderland Center section of town, had organized. The other two clubs were most likely from Dunnsville and Knowersville although there were no further notices of specific Guilderland groups forming.

The officers elected by the first two groups were listed and included several well known local men. “Seventy-four members have been enrolled. Guilderland will do its share in redeeming Albany County,” the Journal wrote.

“Paramilitary” is a 20th-Century term often used nowadays to describe these Wide Awake clubs. Members appeared in a standard uniform of oil-cloth cap and cape, had a hierarchy of officers, and studied Hardee’s Tactics to form lines of march to parade in formation.

However, instead of weapons they carried torches set on poles, the caps and capes meant to protect them from dripping oil and sparks. Disciplined groups of uniformed men marching through the streets could make citizens very uneasy, except as the New York Tribune pointed out, businessmen and professional men, highly respected in their communities, were very much involved in the Wide Awakes.

This was certainly true of Guilderland where M.H.Frederick, the Guilderland Center hotel keeper; Thomas Helme, the McKownville physician; and Peter Shaver and Elijah Spawn, both former town supervisors were Wide Awake club members. Stephen V. Frederick, described as “a worthy scion of the best Republican stock of Guilderland,” was elected supervisor the following year.

To pique everyone’s curiosity, meetings and rallies were announced ahead of time, usually being held at night for maximum effect. When the evening arrived, large crowds turned out to watch the spectacle as the Wide Awakes arrived, marching in parade formation, their oil cloth caps and capes glistening in the light of their torches.

Often they were accompanied by a band or were themselves singing Wide Awake songs such as this one:

       …Lift the banner on high, while from the mountains and plain

          The cheers of the people are sounded again,

          Hurrah! For our cause — of all causes the best!

          Hurrah! For Old Abe, Honest Abe of the West!

In describing a meeting at Princetown, just west of Dunnsville, the Albany Evening Journal reported, “The great feature and attraction of the evening were the Wide Awakes with their neat uniforms, their fine discipline, and their better singing. The clubs of Guilderland can take down the Albany boys in singing, and better yet they can make their own songs.”

In rural areas such as Guilderland, these meetings were held at local hotels. Kelly’s in Princetown is mentioned twice, Frederick’s Hotel in Guilderland Center and McKown’s Tavern in McKownville are also noted. Additional meetings were held in Dunnsville and Knowersville, where the location was called the “village hall,” most likely referring to the Inn of Jacob Crounse, the local community center in those times.

Crowds were so large that inevitably the gathering moved outdoors for the spectacle and speeches. The Oct. 26 Albany Evening Journal reported:

“The meeting at Knowersville last evening was the largest, most enthusiastic and effective meeting ever held in town. A fine Pole was raised, surmounted by a Beetle and Wedge, (both were tools used by railsplitters) and a magnificent banner, bearing the names of Lincoln and Hamlin was run up among cheers of the crowd. In the evening, the meeting was attempted to be held in the village hall, but it was found wholly inadequate to accommodate the multitude.

“On discovering there were more outside than inside the hall, the meeting was adjourned out of doors when stirring and eloquent speeches were made by Messrs. Raines of Ontario, Watson of California and Gerhard and Benedict of his city.

“The Town of Guilderland is in excellent trim. It will give the Republican Ticket a large majority.”

Frequently occurring at these meetings was the raising of a pole. In addition to the pole at Knowersville, one was erected at Kelly’s in Princetown, attended by Guilderland Wide Awakes, “from the top of which a streamer was thrown to the wind on which was inscribed the names of LINCOLN AND HAMLIN. That being done the pole was duly consecrated with three hearty cheers.”

Always part of the program was the presence of two or more speakers. Sometimes they were local men of prominence such as Dr. Fred Crounse Jr. who addressed the crowd at Kelly’s Hotel or Mr. Benedict, the district’s candidate for the State Assembly. Every now and then, an outsider like Mr. Watson of California was on the program. These local rallies often attracted large crowds; one at Kelly’s Hotel was estimated to be in the hundreds.

Think of the novelty, the excitement, the entertainment of torchlight parades, bands and male voices raised in song, speakers who sometimes came from far away, and poles being raised in these small hamlets. But the real spectacle was to be had when a nearby city hosted a huge rally and local Wide Awakes from the nearby towns of Guilderland, New Scotland, Bethlehem, and Knox were invited to join the big parade.

Hudson held the first out-of-town rally attended by Guilderland Wide Awakes when 21 “packed” railroad cars left Albany to take part and, among the hundreds on board, were 25 uniformed Guilderland Wide Awakes under Captain Martin J. Blessing. Shortly afterward, Albany scheduled its own rally.

The day after this event, the Evening Journal’s headlines screamed, “The Grand Wide Awake Demonstration,” “The Capital of the Empire State in a Blaze of Light,” and “Most Thrilling Torchlight Parade Ever Witnessed on the Continent.”

Claiming 50,000 people witnessed the 7,000 Wide Awakes who were marching in a “line of glittering torches, the river of dancing fire, roman candles without number were discharged.” The houses and businesses of sympathetic Republicans were illuminated along the parade route the paper said, and “Cheers and huzzas resounded and echoed, at times almost deafening.”

All that, and 19 brass bands of martial music accompanied Wide Awakes from as far away as Canajoharie, Gloversville, Saratoga, Ballston, and Kingston who came to parade. “Thousands of persons” came from country towns and surely the Wide Awakes and spectators from rural Albany County were there as well.

In the days immediately preceding the election, the Albany Evening Journal sternly preached to area Wide Awakes, “The time has gone by for mass meetings and big parades … attention to detail is needed.”

Wide Awakes were instructed to see that all Republicans were registered, act as poll watchers, challenge irregularities, and go out to bring in delinquent Republican voters. Election Day came and went.

Lincoln was victorious, but not in Albany County. In spite of their disappointment, the Wide Awakes marched in a victory parade in Albany, a notice in the Albany Evening Journal calling for Wide Awakes from city and county to participate. Numerous Wide Awake balls were planned.

Guilderland’s Republican men had been part of a national movement in one of this nation’s most important elections.

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